Sherlollystrade Shorts
by MizJoely
Summary: Set in my Codename: Lestrade 'verse (Sherlollystrade, polyamory).
1. Delicate

Sometimes he treats them like they're delicate, like they'll break if he uses them too roughly. Like he's making up for all the times he treated them badly in the past, or the times he still gets thoughtless and careless of them.

Greg loves it when he's like this, and so does Molly. He doesn't need to hear her soft sighs and coos of contentment as Sherlock rests in the cradle of her thighs, his lips on her throat and his cock buried deep inside her. He can see it from where he lies on his side next to them, the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, the way those cheeks flush and how tightly her hand grips his.

Sherlock looks up, hips still rocking, as if catching a whiff of his other lover's thoughts, and he smiles. "Give us a kiss, luv," he says coyly, deliberately evoking Victorian coquetry, and Greg can't help the smile that curls his lips as he leans forward to oblige him.

The kiss is tender, lingering, and he feels Sherlock's hand on his neck, rubbing gently at the bristly edge of his hairline. Molly lets him go, but only to pull him down for a kiss of her own. She's still kissing him when her orgasm washes over her, coming with a gasp against his lips and then a soft giggle of apology for not noticing how close she was.

They lie together afterwards, sated, sweaty and sleepy, a tangled mass of limbs with Sherlock in the middle. He's sprawled out as always, one leg over Greg's, the other curled under Molly's, with her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulders. His other hand is resting on Greg's stomach, the long fingers splayed possessively, and there couldn't possibly be a better end to an evening.


	2. We Travel Through Hell

_anonymous asked: If you still do them : sherlollystrade, "We travel through Hell"_

 _Flash fic fest - they gave me titles, I wrote ficlets. Rated K+, tops. Enjoy!_

* * *

"It's not easy, is it."

Greg offered John a confused frown. "What, being a copper? Nah, it's not, but the-"

John shook his head and took a thoughtful sip of his lager. "Not that. I meant them." He nodded at Molly and Sherlock, seated at the table with Mike Stamford and Sally Donovan, with Philip Anderson sort of hovering behind them. "Being with them. The three of you."

Greg took a very unthoughtful gulp of his Guiness, mind racing as he struggled with what to say. How do you answer something like that, when what you're being asked is supposed to be secret? "Listen, John, I dunno what you think is going on, but…"

John Watson was clearly in no mood to allow Greg to finish a single bloody sentence tonight. "It's not Mrs. Hudson's fault. I let her think I already knew and let her talk about how lovely the three of you were together. How romantic it was that you'd found your way to each other and ohhh, wasn't it nice that I wasn't jealous even though Sherlock - well. You get the idea."

"Yeah." Greg stared into his glass, then sidelong at John. "So…you're, um, not, right? Jealous?"

"Jealous? God no," John replied with an exaggerated shudder. "Well, except for Molly, I quite fancied her for a bit but she never had eyes for anyone but Sherlock. And now, I guess, you. And it's working? For the three of you? No…problems? No jealousies there? All sunshine and rainbows for you?"

Hmm. John might not be jealous in the way Mrs. Hudson had meant, but he certainly wasn't sounding too happy at being left out of the loop. "It's just that it's so complicated to explain. It isn't the 'normal' thing." Greg shifted uncomfortably on his barstool. "Not everyone can accept that, when you're a relationship like the one we have. And yeah, sometimes we fight and we've each felt left out at times. Bit like traveling through hell, those days."

"But worth it?" John asked softly.

"Yeah," Greg replied. "Completely." He hesitated before asking, "We good?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, of course," John replied. "But I owe Mary a week of nappy-changing and bottle-washing duty. She knew something was up and I figured I'd be proving her wrong. Should've known better." He gave a quiet huff of laughter. "Never bet against Mary Watson, Greg. Remember that."

"Will do, mate," Greg replied. "So. Shall I tell Sherlock and Molly the cat's out of the bag, or would you care to do the honors? Keeping in mind," he added sternly, "that punching the snot out of him is strictly off the table, best friend or not."

John downed the last of his drink, set the pint glass on the bar, and grinned. "Think I'll just see how long it takes him to deduce that I know. More fun that way."

Greg couldn't do anything but agree.


End file.
